


Maybe by Thirty

by Chelo



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, M/M, Malec, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:35:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23370307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chelo/pseuds/Chelo
Summary: Magnus Bane is a musician with plenty of heartbreak to sing about. Alec Lightwood is trying to find the balance between restructuring the family business and taking care of the ones he loves. Friends reconnect over a pact in the midst of fame and family drama. Love happens.
Relationships: Magnus Bane & Alec Lightwood
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> OR this is loosely inspired by the show Single by Thirty and lots of other content I've watched and read but can't list because its all mashed together in my head. In short this is a bunch of fluff that I will try to unravel and post it as a chaptered work but who knows.  
> Find me on twitter @chelos_stuff if you like. Hope you enjoy.

**NEW YORK, MAY 2008**

Music blares through the giant speakers that are, frankly, too close for Alec to enjoy or peacefully tolerate. The DJ plays an upbeat track, or maybe it’s the club remix of a song Alec doesn’t know. The thrumming base moves through his chest and confuses his heart with every incessant beat.

“Alec! What are you doing here? Go dance!” It’s Izzy, in the red dress she left the house in, but now a light sheen of sweat covers her face and her hair looks slightly less immaculate. She’s the spitting image of carefree fun. “You can’t just sit here and mope all night.” it sounds like a challenge. Alec only raises an eyebrow in response.

“I shouldn't have come to the dance.” he raises his voice as much as he can so that Izzy can hear him. 

“Don't say that. You should be here having fun like everyone else.” she takes one of his hands in hers pulling him towards the dance floor, but Alec makes no move to follow and stays planted in his seat. “C’mon! It’s your senior year! Have some fun!” There was not much more she could say through the music. He rolls his eyes, a sign that Izzy recognizes as Alec being stubborn, and lets go of him. She raises her hands in defeat. “Can’t say I didn’t try!” she walks away and disappears into the mob of dancing teenagers.

Alec is sitting on a plastic folding chair in the high school gym, the hardwood floor is strewn with balloons and confetti, watching Magnus, the person he cares about, dance with someone else. Alec’s chest constricts even tighter. Watching them dance makes the aching more consuming, but he doesn’t tear his eyes away.

Magnus laughs at something Dot whispers in his ear and Alec starts to begrudge not being out. A terrifying thought. He hates it. How one fact about himself can possibly change so many things in his life. How he hasn’t had the courage to tell anyone but Magnus that he’s gay. How he didn’t have to tell Magnus just merely confirm what Magnus already suspected. How he’s almost sure Izzy and Jace know but don’t mention it. The fact that he even has to come out at all. It never bothered him this much before- well before meeting Magnus. Magnus, who saw him, talked to him, and took him just like that. Magnus didn’t ask Alec to explain his shifting moods, just supplied the levity to distract him from it all. His heart nearly restarts every time Magnus smiles at him.

Magnus is at the center of a group dancing with Dot, both moving fluidly as if they somehow rehearsed prior to tonight. Magnus is lit in blue and green lights and there is confetti in his hair adorning the blonde spikes. The song changes and the look of pure excitement on Magnus’ face has Alec’s heart doing flips and he has to concentrate on the wood pattern on the floor to remember how to breathe.

Alec recognizes the song as Crank That by Soulja Boy. Magnus played it for him saying “This is killer!” and Alec found himself agreeing.

It’s a thing. It’s definitely _become_ a thing. The direct correlation between Alec liking something and Magnus is a slope that only goes up, he finds. He doesn’t have such varied taste in music like Magnus or Izzy and may have been repulsed by the song when Jace played it loudly in the car, but when Magnus mouthed the words to it, he decided it wasn’t so bad. Alec tries not to think about it.

He finds Izzy at the edge of the dance floor with, who Alec assumes is the Meliorn she’s mentioned over the past few days and lets her know that he’s leaving and to call when she and Jace need a ride home. She gives him her signature ‘really Alec?’ look but nods and lets him go.

At Starlight Diner, Alec furiously stabs his milkshake with a straw. He doesn’t want to go home yet in case his parents are awake and decide to ask him questions he doesn’t exactly have answers to. He takes a sip of the sugary chocolate mocha concoction, when the cherry on top of his drink is plucked by deft fingers.

“I knew I’d find you here.” Magnus says and takes the cherry between his teeth. He slides into the booth, looking out of place in his maroon nearly see through shirt, that Alec is convinced is a punishment for something terrible he must have done in a past life. He keeps his eyes on Magnus’ face. Also breath taking. How rude, he thinks.

“Magnus you should be at the dance.” Alec says. Magnus ignores him as he reaches for the milkshake on the table between them and takes a long pull from the straw.

“You left.” Magnus huffs. “You didn’t even give me a chance to ask you to dance. I’m deeply offended.” He says clutching his chest and looking wounded.

“Ah, I think I spared you actually.” Alec takes the milkshake back. “Dancing is not something I’ve been called ‘good’ at.” Magnus rolls his eyes and murmurs what Alec thinks is the word _idiot_ and well he’s not wrong. “What about Dot?” Alec asks.

“She had an early curfew, so I took her home.” Magnus says. “Granted, I’m pretty sure she’s sneaking out and go to the party at the Blackthorns.” Magnus reaches for the milkshake and uses the straw to scoop the whipped cream into his mouth.

“You could still go. Party sounds fun.” Alec focuses on the milkshake glass.

“Come with me.” Magnus says.

“No.”

“Then no.” Magnus says decidedly.

“I don’t even know why I went to the dance. I didn’t have anyone to go with.” Magnus puts the straw back and pushes the milkshake toward Alec.

“You didn’t have to go with someone to have fun Alexander. Also, to find a date you kind of have to _ask_ someone. That means _talking_ to people.” Magnus has a point.

“Easy for you to say. Dot asked you. Do you know how nerve wracking it is to ask someone out?” he leans back, stretching his long legs beneath the booth. Alec takes a long sip of mocha blended ice and his face pinches in the wake of brain freeze.

“Yes and I would have asked someone, but I said yes to Dot first,” he takes the milkshake from Alec. “What’s the worst that could happen anyway? That they say no?”

“Precisely,” Alec sets his elbows on the table “followed by death.” he deadpans.

“ _Hey_ ,” Magnus huffs. “I’m the ‘dramatic one’ as you’ve put it. And it’s not like there is only one person out there. You could have more than one guy in mind.”

“Like a backup?” Alec asks and it’s in these moments that he hates how often he thinks out loud when talking with Magnus.

“Yes, like a backup.” Magnus takes another sip. “A friend, you know?”

“Seems a bit cruel to make someone a second choice.” Alec points out.

“Don’t think of it like that. I would have been your back up.” Magnus gestures a hand to his face. “You could have had this, Alexander.” Magnus laughs, a low musical laugh and Alec wants to drown in the sound.

Alec pushes down the nervous feeling rising in his chest. His ears feel hot. “I wish it were that easy. It’s just so… much. Finding someone. I couldn’t find a date to a high school dance, how is the rest of my life going to be? I’m gonna be thirty and single and living with my parents.” Alec drops his head into the crook of his elbow and groans.

“So your dad’s back?” Magnus asks quietly after a moment. Alec turns his head to face Magnus, resting his cheek on his arm.

“Yes.” Alec sighs. “This time it’s all ‘You need to find a girlfriend son.’ and I’m just adding it to the list of things I’m going to disappoint him with.” He sits up, shoulders slumping under an invisible weight. “I just wish I had a sure way to know that life won’t always be so . . . uncertain. So much has to happen for me to be ha- _ugh_ , never mind.” Alec takes a deep breath, it’s shaky like there isn’t enough air to fill his lungs.

Magnus stays quiet and slides the glass towards Alec who takes it nervously.

“You know, not everything happens according to plan Alexander.” Magnus says after a short while of watching Alec stare into the pool of blended mocha in the glass. “Things will happen as they happen, you just gotta go with it.”

Alec groans. “It would be nice to have a backup plan, but for . . . life.”

“I’ll be your backup.” Magnus blurts out almost too quickly.

“What?” Alec’s brows knit together. He’s not sure he heard that correctly. It doesn’t make sense. “You’re serious?”

“Y-yes. Well only if you are my backup too.” Magnus says. “If neither of us are married by thirty, we . . . could get married . . .” his voice trails off. Alec says nothing. “I mean, I don’t know, it’s a long time from now. By then we might both be happy and married and who knows if we are even gonna know each other then or be in the same place, so it might not even-”

“Okay.” Alec says, breaking through Magnus’ rambling.

“Okay?” Magnus takes a breath.

“Yeah. If neither of us are married by the time we are thirty, we give it a shot.” Alec sets his hands on the table. “Like you said, who knows, but it feels nice to have something good to fall back on.” He tries to keep down the hint of a smile on his face, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Okay.” Magnus breathes out, looking relieved. Neither of them say anything for a long moment. For that minute they are just two friends, sitting in a diner, making a ridiculous pact over a milkshake.

Alec wants to remember this image of Magnus sitting in a cracked diner booth with a cherry stem slotted between his fingers like a tiny cigarette. Magnus has a few stray of pieces of tissue confetti in his hair, making him look like a snapshot taken from a lucrative party and badly photoshopped into the yellow light of the diner that doesn’t dare touch him enough to wash him out. 

Alec’s phone buzzes in his pocket. It’s a text from Izzy: _can you take me to helens party ???_

“So” Alec starts, “about that party at Helen’s, you still wanna go?”

“Are you asking me to accompany you?” Magnus says cocking an eyebrow.

Alec pretends to be thinking, pouting his lips and studying the air around Magnus. “Maybe.” he says, but the pleading look that appears on his face betrays him. Parties aren’t appealing to Alec, but if Izzy _and_ Magnus are there then maybe it’s worth going. Magnus slides out of the booth and extends a hand to Alec.

He takes Magnus’ hand and steadies himself.

“Let’s go future husband.” Magnus says and this time, Alec can’t stop his smile.


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A party, a song, and a delayed vacation are just another day in the life of Magnus Bane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is Someone You Loved by Lewis Capaldi
> 
> Find me on twitter @chelos_stuff if you'd like

**AUSTRALIA, MARCH 2017**

“No, I don’t want dancers for this.” Magnus says into the speaker of his phone.

“Are you sure? It’s the finale, you have to do something big.” Raphael sighs over the phone, which he often does when talking to Magnus. It’s a wonder he hasn’t run out of air.

“I’m not competing remember. This is about the artist that wins this year. It’s _their_ big moment.” Magnus remembers his time on The Star, Australia’s most popular music competition show, and the feeling he got that day the gold confetti rained down for him when he won nearly two years ago. Time stopped for a moment and he could see a wave of people bathed in gold lights cheering for him, their love radiating from the stands and drowning him with every yell and clap. Magnus knows he could swim in that feeling forever. Oh if he could harness that magic, he’d share it with everyone. Whoever won this year’s show should get to feel every bit of that.

“Fine.” Raphael says and Magnus can hear the urgent pressing on a keyboard over the line “I’ll let the Star know. Usual green room requests?”

“Yeah” Magnus says, more focused on getting his outfit out of the garment bag.

“Take your own stylist or use theirs?” Raphael goes on.

“No stylist. I can dress myself for this one.” Raphael heaves another sigh.

“ _Santo cielos contigo_. Do you know how many stylists contact me about working with you? A lot, but you’re stubborn.” he takes a sharp breath that statics over the line.

Magnus tries to hold back a laugh. “I find it unnecessary to hire a person to tell me what to wear. Maybe someday, but not now.”

“Okay.” he types rapidly. “That’s all I needed Magnus. Thank you. I’ll send your updated calendar, I’ve scheduled a TV interview in Sydney for you to talk about your upcoming performance for the Star, your time on the show, and possibly tease your first album.” Raphael says. This time it’s Magnus’ turn to sigh in an almighty fashion.

“Raphael. You and I both know I have almost nothing for an album. I can’t talk about music I haven’t written yet.” Magnus drops on to the bed and stares up at the plain white ceiling, his feet still touching the floor.

“This is a crucial time for you.” he wants to point out that Raphael says that all the time. Releasing his EP, a video, the start of his tour, the middle of his tour, every performance, and interview, have been “crucial times” for Magnus. He stays quiet. “You are rounding out your tour in the country that launched your career. The Star stage is full circle on your debut. Your EP is going well, but an album is your next move. I know you don’t have much for it, but just mention that it’s in the future.”

“Will do.” Another sigh. “Thank you, Raphael. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Perish in a vodka haze.” Raphael deadpans.

“Most likely.” Magnus agrees.

“ _Most likely?_ You’re telling me the time I found you in a Florida hotel room hugging a bottle of Malibu wasn’t a close encounter with death?” he recounts seriously.

“That was rum, not vodka. Big difference.” Magnus clarifies.

“Right, well-” There is a knock on Raphael’s door. “Okay, I have to go. Remember that your flight to Sydney leaves tomorrow at 10AM. Don’t miss it. I have some meetings with the upper levels of Alliance Management about making our transition back to the states so I probably won’t make it to your concert, but call me if you need anything.”

“Of course. Thanks Raphael.” The call disconnects and Magnus is once again, alone.

Alone in another hotel room that is just like any hotel room he’s been in. The furnishings mimic the feel of a home but it all feels so clinical. Posed. Somehow returning to Melbourne and staying in a hotel feels wrong. The last time he was here, he stayed with his father in his house in Balwyn, but that house no longer belongs to Asmodeus. Dead men don’t own property and it’s been sold since the man passed. Magnus wonders if in a way he’s made nondescript hotel rooms his home. He feels just as comfortable in them as he did in that big house. Maybe.

His phone lights up with a calendar notification titled in Raphael’s signature lack of flare. Event: Tonight 9PM – Birthday Party for Exec’s Daughter. Hmm, a party could be fun. A text comes in, _A record exec from the label just asked me to invite you. His daughter is a fan. I know you’re going out anyway, so go to this._ He texts that he will be there. Raphael replies almost too quickly saying _Lots of celebrities are attending. Make friends._

This part of his career he thoroughly enjoys. Having fun surrounded by strangers is a more than effective way to pass the time. He opens the thick curtains on the windows and the city is just coming alive for the night down below. He gets ready in the outfit he picked out in a small shop in London. A dazzling black jacket over a blue collarless shirt is just right for this party. Raphael sends a car, courtesy of the record label to pick him up, and they drive to a house that cannot be described as a house, but more like a modest mansion. The driver stops in the middle of a curving driveway with a fountain in the center of the roundabout, and the door is opened by an ever-stoic attendant.

“Welcome Mr. Bane.” the man says. Magnus nods, this is all a little more than he expected, and it is all that much more exciting. “You may go right ahead.”

“Thank you.” Magnus says politely and he can see that the man is not used to being looked at directly as he nods and looks at his shoes.

He stands in the foyer and it is a _party_. There is a champagne pyramid, a mirror ball rotating from the ceiling, and a sea of people filling the length of main room. He dives in, weaving through the crowd and notices a few stars he recognizes but has never actually met. He takes a drink from a passing tray. Whiskey. Good whiskey, he thinks and takes another sip.

“Magnus Bane!” a man’s booming voice reaches him. He’s seen him before at Downworld Records in New York. “I don’t suppose you remember me. I’m Lewis Branwell.”

“Pleasure to finally meet you properly Mr. Branwell.” Magnus says, shaking his hand.

“The pleasure is all mine, I’m so glad you could make it on such short notice.” Mr. Branwell continues, “My daughter is a huge fan. She practically pitched you to me like an agent after you won the Star.”

“Oh, that’s incredible.” Magnus says. “I’m flattered.” he feels like an ant under a magnifying glass.

“I know talent when I see it and it seems my daughter Lydia may have that knack too.” He says, “Would you like to meet her?”

“Of course.” Magnus says.

“Wonderful!” Mr. Branwell exclaims, and puts an arm around Magnus leading him to another room away from the crowd of dancing people. They go to a sitting room on the other end of the house, a long walk away from the main party. It’s still full of people but the music is less consuming with the added distance. “Magnus, this is my daughter Lydia Branwell.” Lydia stands from where she was sitting. She looks surprised but remains professionally calm. She’s beautiful. Blonde hair braided perfectly and framing her face. Much like her father, she has very composed features and a clear voice. 

“Hello Magnus. Wow, its so nice to meet you.” She shakes his hand firmly. “I had no idea you were coming. I’m sure my dad told you I’m a fan.” she laughs nervously. 

“Thought I’d surprise you.” Mr. Branwell says, kissing the top of her head. “I’ll leave you two, I’ll go make the rounds.” he says and walks out of the room calling someone’s name.

“Thank you so much for having me at your party tonight.” Magnus says. Lydia takes a deep breath.

“Thank you for coming. I had no idea my dad would do this.” She gestures to the room of people. “Let alone bother _you_ for this, I know you’re on tour.”

“I am, but currently taking a small break. Only a few shows left, but I do love a good party.” Lydia smiles at that. “Care to dance?” Magnus asks. She says nothing for a long moment, and for a second he feels he may have overstepped.

“Um, I’ll just warn you now that I’m not much of a dancer.” she says.

“I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it.” he encourages.

She deliberates for a moment and then says “Okay,” Lydia takes his hand, letting Magnus lead her out to the dance floor.

Lydia does get the hang of it. She watches Magnus and other people dance and soon enough she fits right in. A woman wearing a pink feather boa around her neck passes by and places a sash on Lydia that says, ‘Birthday Girl’ and a tiara on her head that he is sure is not plastic. The woman drapes her feather boa around Magnus and he wraps it around with an air elegance. Lydia laughs and places a hand on her chest as if the sound seems to surprise her, like she hasn’t laughed in a long time.

Magnus is drinking and dancing and laughing because it turns out Lydia is really funny. She says hello to everyone that passes and hugs way too many people that look like they just walked off a magazine cover. At one point he sees her talking to someone that looks a lot like a Jonas Brother. He doesn’t dare get close enough to find out.

Somewhere along the night, several of the artists in attendance make their way to the stage set up alongside the DJ. They sing their own songs or cover great music in a very professional star-studded karaoke. Magnus is no stranger to A-List parties, he’s been invited to red carpet events and after parties, but this event is intimate and exclusive and he feels like he’s not supposed to be here, in the same room as Sam Smith and a possible Brendon Urie. He didn’t get a good look but that had to be his voice.

There are more drinks, more dancing and he’s lost in a line of people feeling every beat of music and the warmth of alcohol coursing through him. He feels alive, his body buzzing with the energy he gives and gets from others, doing his best to ignore that he is surrounded by celebrities. He’s tired, danced out but also recharged. It’s what he’s always loved about parties: the electric atmosphere and the revitalizing energy.

He sits on an uncomfortable looking loveseat that is actually soft. Magnus focuses on breathing for a few minutes. It’s late. He can feel it. Time moves faster when you drink it away. The night is slowing down, the crowd looks a bit thinner, the confetti on the ground is crumpled and stepped on. Someone is singing in a soft falsetto voice dripping with hopeful heartache. The emotion is filling the room and Magnus is floating in the sound.

He finds himself at the edge of the stage. The singer finishes his song and walks away leaving the space quiet for a bit. There is a stool, several guitars propped up, a patent black grand piano and other smaller instruments just waiting for someone to pick them up.

“You should go up there.” It’s Lewis Branwell appearing at the side of the stage as if from thin air. He’s without his jacket and holding a drink in one hand.

“Oh, I’m not sure about that.” Magnus says. Honestly, he’s tired and somewhat tipsy, he doesn’t trust himself to give a performance right now.

“There’s hardly anyone here.” Branwell gestures around the room and he’s right. There are maybe less than fifty guests scattered across the large room. Magnus has played bigger gigs than this right? “Play something I haven’t heard before.” It sounds like a test and Magnus is caught feeling like he has to prove himself and unsure if he’s prepared to do so, an intersection he encounters more often than he’d like to admit.

“Sure. I’ll give it a shot.”

Magnus walks up the stage and decides on the piano. He has one song for the next album, his first album. Just one. This song is unlike anything he’s released so far, it’s slow and perhaps a bit sad, but its all he has.

He begins to play and he falls into the music, the soft notes he chose, the clear lyrics, the emotion, the ever present sense of grasping at something that was never his to take. His voice rings pure and full, coloured by the reminder that he was fighting for someone that never intended to go to war with him. There is a crowd gathering at the edge of the stage, inexplicably drawn in by the kind of hurt you want to comfort that exudes from Magnus. By the last note, everyone in the room is looking at him, some are wiping tears from their cheeks, others stand mouths agape, but all eyes are on him. The room echoes lightly with the sound of footsteps getting closer. He looks around the space and can’t piece together how these artists, these amazing talented musicians, that he has admired his entire life are looking at him like that. Their focused attention is overwhelming.

Its Lydia that breaks the silence. “Magnus that was incredible. Is that new?” She’s standing at the bottom of the steps on the right side of the stage, looking at him with her big eyes. He can only nod. “That- that song is amazing.”

He can’t speak. He’s sure that your musical idols watching you perform counts as a good reason to die on the spot, but he’s not so lucky. They’re clapping and it’s deafening. The night becomes a blur of faces, compliments, bright smiles, and ringed handshakes.

“You know, this is one of those moments where I am sure my gut instinct is correct.” Lewis Branwell appears again, looking positively relaxed. “I knew you had something when I saw you perform the first time. It’s the kind of… quality people fall in love with.” he says turning to look at Magnus who is now standing under the mirror ball. “And your voice aint half bad.” He pauses, “Captivating actually.”

“Thank you.” Magnus manages to say and not for the first time tonight he wants the ground to swallow him up. It doesn’t. The votes of confidence have him reeling and right now he doesn’t believe any of them. He’s not sure how to take it all in, not sure _if_ he can.

* * *

“Magnus, what did you do?” Raphael says over the phone the next morning.

“What do you mean?” Magnus takes a seat at a small table in the middle of the Melbourne airport. It’s buzzing with travelers. No one focusing on anyone and he likes to enjoy the disinterest people have in him. On tour, he works with musicians and people who expect everyone to be _someone_ in concert venues so they treat him as such, but here he is just another person drinking an overpriced coffee before his flight.

“Why do I have a voicemail from Lewis Branwell, asking to set up a meeting with him?” Raphael’s voice is tense.

“I’m not sure.” Magnus takes another sip of his coffee trying to chase away the headache and lingering exhaustion.

“Magnus.” Raphael says, this time there is an edge to it. “What did you do?”

“I-” he starts. “I sang a new song at the party last night. I think he liked it.”

“You did _what_?” Raphael nearly screams and this is the first time Magnus has heard him almost lose his stony composure.

“I sang my new song.”

“Ay dios.” Raphael breathes out. “This- is perfect. I’ll set up a meeting as soon as possible.”

“Are you smiling? You sound happy.” Raphael clears his throat and Magnus holds back a laugh.

“Of course not.”

“You are.”

“Lies.” he exhales. “I’ll let you know what happens as soon as I can, but you can probably expect a trip to New York soon.”

“Why can’t we meet in the Sydney office?” Magnus groans, international flights are not his favorite thing.

“Branwell mentioned New York in his voicemail. It’s a good thing. It means you could possibly expand your music to the U.S.” Magnus sighs, the entertainment industry in the states seems like an impossible market for him to conquer with his less than cheery music.

“Okay, I’ll be ready.” Magnus says. “I gotta go, my plane is boarding soon.”

“There will be a car waiting for you when you land that will take you to the concert venue tonight. Don’t drink too much coffee.” Raphael orders.

“Yes mom.” Magnus fake whines and he can practically hear Raphael’s eyes rolling.

“Call me if you need anything Magnus.”

“Thank you. I will.” This is how most of their conversations end. Raphael may show as much emotion as a hot rock, but he truly cares about Magnus.

The short flight from Melbourne to Sydney has Magnus thinking. Thinking about Branwell, New York, his interview tomorrow morning, and he knows that if he didn’t have a carefully crafted and organized schedule, he would slowly lose his sanity. He focuses on tonight’s performance.

He has been touring almost exclusively with other new artists in mashed up concerts. Downworld Records has a carefully curated rotation of emerging artists on tour together which helps give small artists visibility especially when a more popular artist is included in the line up. This performance is no different. It’s a three-artist headline concert tonight with one band and two solo artists that have more or less the same standing as he does. Tonight he is closing the show.

He nearly laughs out loud, thinking about all those shows where the lineup put him to open and the collective sigh the crowd gave when another artist would come out and they could hear something that they could dance to. To be fair his EP is not always cohesive with the artists he sometimes gets paired with. Four out of five of the songs are, as a radio host once described, ‘sitting in the bath with a glass of wine’ music. It’s an amusing badge of honor for Magnus. His favorite performances are the ones where can play the entirety of his EP. Watching a crowd sink into the music is what Magnus loves most about performing. A live performance doesn’t let the audience skip a song, but surrounds them entirely and really take it all in.

The Metro Theatre is quiet when he arrives, well as quiet as a concert venue will ever be. Magnus likes to sit in the silent rustle before a performance and watch the place slowly come alive with people working backstage and concert attendees forming outside the doors. The stage manager is already there, and one of the acts is starting soundcheck. Magnus would love to be the kind of person that doesn’t obsess over the little things, but all he can think about is all the artists that have played here before him and the fact that he will be performing on that same stage tonight. No big deal, Jeff Buckley played here.

He lines up for sound check, leaving his suitcase ready in his dressing room, his guitar hanging from the strap around his shoulder. He runs through the first verse and chorus of his three picks for the night feeling the sound carry through the empty arena. The sound tech gives him a nod and a thumbs up and he goes back to his dressing room. He makes careful work of getting ready and even shining his shoes before putting on his jewelry. There is a quick knock on the door.

“Magnus, it’s Raphael.” Magnus opens the door and there is his agent in a deep maroon suit.

“I thought you weren’t gonna make it tonight.” Magnus says in lieu of greeting as Raphael walks in.

“Well, I trust you, but Lewis Branwell has been on my case all day about you so I thought I’d make my way here.” Raphael says and there is a glint in his eye that Magnus has rarely seen. “You know his daughter Lydia gave me a call too. She’s impressed by how you have a generous overhead for your tour but production costs are low. She’s into numbers.” Raphael walks in and looks around the room, examining. “This is the neatest dressing room I’ve ever seen.”

“What does all this mean?” Magnus rushes out.

“It means the label wants more with you. You’re right on the edge.” Raphael lets out a sharp breath. “This is your last concert for your EP. You perform tomorrow on the Morning Show and Branwell wants you to debut your new song on the Star this Sunday.”

“What? No! It’s not ready.”

“I told him that.”

“So then I’ll sing Track 3 like we planned.” it sounds like a question.

“He insists, but I told him I had to talk to you first even though he has good reason to push this. The Star is the biggest stage you’re getting on any time soon. It’s televised, its now.” he scrubs a hand over his face.

“I haven’t even recorded it. Who’s going to produce? I-” Magnus can feel his heart rising in his throat.

“Magnus I’m not pushing for Branwell. I represent _you_. If you say no, then that’s what I’ll tell him.” Magnus takes a breath yet he can’t pull enough air to fill his lungs. “ _Mira_ , this is your career. You have every say in what happens. I wouldn’t have told you this right now, but we have limited time if you do say yes.”

The thought of releasing one song without a complete body of work to follow it is terrifying, but timing has also never been better. He’s toured with his EP for nearly 18 months and that is way more than some complete albums get. He wonders if this is what he’s always wanted, this opportunity. After the gold confetti and screaming crowds, this is what he’s been hoping for.

“Will I be able to record it?” he moves to sit on the small gray sofa that is one of the few pieces of furniture in the room. “If I say yes.”

“If you say yes, I’ll get you in the studio tomorrow right after your Morning Show performance and Branwell is ready to fly any producers you want here to the Sydney office. The song would be released after the Star is aired on every streaming platform.” Raphael takes a breath. “If you say no, we go to New York and you can write your album like we had planned before. Lay low for a bit and do a standard single release in maybe six months.”

Magnus had been looking forward to having a designated writing time, to going back to New York after touring in random parts of the world for so long, to being in one time zone for a while, maybe that’s what he needs.

“Can I hear the song?” Raphael asks after a long while.

“What?” Magnus asks. He was mentally arranging his Brooklyn loft which definitely needs a bigger closet.

“Will you play the song for me? I’d like to hear what’s got Branwell so excited.”

Magnus wordlessly, picks up his guitar and runs through the first verse and chorus, keeping his eyes on his hands as he plays. He hears Raphael take a deep breath and he’s nervous to look up.

“I wrote it on the piano, but this is basically it. I could still make some changes if its too slow. Add some layers to it.”

“It’s incredible.” Raphael says and Magnus’ head snaps up.

“Oh” Is all he can say. “I just figured it was kinda… depressing.”

“It is, but its great. You really pull at the _corazón_ there.” he clears his throat. “Look Magnus I’m not gonna tell you what to do, but you really have something here.”

The distant sound of people filling the arena reaches them through the door. They can hear excited voices, thundering footsteps, filling the previously hollow space. A man wearing a head set mic knocks on the door and pops his head in after Magnus says “Come in” almost immediately.

“Shows on in fifteen.” and he’s gone as quickly as he appeared.

“You’re ready?” Raphael asks like he does almost every show. Magnus stands and lets Raphael straighten out his collar. Magnus takes a breath. “Now you’re gonna do those terrible vocal warmups right?” Magnus rolls his eyes, as Raphael takes a seat and starts tapping purposefully at his phone.

The artists play their sets and Magnus knows the music for once. And then it’s his turn. He waits in the wings as the band before him makes their exit and says goodbye. He has a buzzing electricity running through him as soon as he steps on the stage. His name is lit up on a giant screen behind the band. Screams fill his ears as he approaches the mic.

“Hello Sydney!” he says into the microphone. “How’s everyone doing tonight?” More screams. “Glad to hear that! I’m Magnus Bane,” he gestures with a guitar pick to the screen behind him, “and this first song I’ll be singing for you all is about being a little reckless with yourself. It’s called Clumsy.” the crowd erupts and many of them start singing along.

It is this specific feeling that Magnus hasn’t found anywhere else. Happy and terrified mixed together, becoming more happy than terrified with every song he plays. The crowd is leaning all their energy towards him, taking in his words and waving their arms. He can feel his smile etch itself on his face. There is a group of people huddling in the front, the only area he can see past the bright lights, and he notices they are following along to every word and something settles in Magnus. He doesn’t want to miss this. He doesn’t want to _remember_ these moments. He want to keep living in them for as long as possible.

“This last song,” the crowd groans, but he continues “is something I wrote about a time I tried being something I could never be and trying so hard but still being terrible at it. This is called You Deserve Better.” This is his most popular song and the crowd moves like a bouncing ocean with the beat.

The concert ends with the other three artists returning to the stage to say goodbye and the crowd begrudgingly obliges to the dismissal. Raphael is waiting for him backstage, an almost smile on his face. Magnus doesn’t mention it. He packs up his few tour necessities, slings his guitar on his back and is on his way back to his hotel in no time. The car ride is mostly quiet, save for the occasional “hmm” out of Raphael from something he is reading on his phone.

Magnus forces his leg to hold still with more effort than should ever be required. Just as he is about to speak Raphael cuts in.

“What is it Magnus?” he takes a breath.

“I’ll do it. I’ll record the song.” he says and Raphael’s head snaps up. He looks at Magnus for a moment and nods before turning to his phone and resumes tapping at the screen faster than before.

“Make sure to get some rest tonight, its going to get crazy.” Raphael says when they get to the hotel.

“Yeah.” he nods making his way inside. He settles into bed after laying out his clothes for the next day atop his suitcase at the foot of the bed. His mind replays the last thing Raphael says to him that night and he drifts to sleep not knowing just how right Raphael would turn out to be.


End file.
